Читать книгу Creeland - Dallas Hunt - Страница 11

in Canada, what came first, the prison cell or the casket?

colonialism is waiting eighteen hours in a cell when you desperately need a hospital,

is when you(r) burst blood vessels are read as a night on the town.

an RCMP officer is a prison guard is a school teacher is a hospital where you are sterilized unknowingly.

your body is described, rendered as “collapsed,” “slumped,” burdened by descriptors so loaded that they undermine the sympathy they are purported to garner.

settler colonialism is not the fear of dying but “the fear of dying alone.”

an expert testifies, speaks strongly to how these conditions are opposed to “operating procedures,” to a past perfect: mistakes had been made, not that they are, and will be made again, in perpetuity.

it’s hard for institutions to respond to medical crises when medical crises are how they’re constituted.

basically what they produce and how you are produced when “impaired”

suspends

care, even though being “impaired” is when one actually might need care.

a “disorienting event” exacerbated by the police leaves you forever changed when life itself isn’t over but “the life you knew is.”

a brain perforated a chronic limp a stark message that being “detained” or containment is the essence of your existence in these spaces, as though detainment is supposed to feel like a welcoming blanket wrapped around a mallet meant to pulverize, like they “stole four and a half years” of your life because routine check-ups and adequate items for sleep are not needed cause they never work and, rarely, if ever, work as well, or feel as good to them as a mallet will.